


A Kiss is a Promise

by Potoo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5348129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potoo/pseuds/Potoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A queen meets a mermaid, and in another world, so do two old friends. Their stories are more connected than they think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss is a Promise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CommaSplice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/gifts).



'The sea was a wild thing, but not beautiful, Asha had always thought. Salty air filling her lungs was always exhilarating, that was true, and to look upon the clear horizon with no land, no end in sight was certainly the greatest experience of freedom possible in the world; but then a furious storm came to remind her that the sea bore no more similarities to one of the soft pretty ladies at court than a wild wolf snarling in the midst of a forest. The sea was wild and not beautiful, she had always been convinced of that, yet this day she began to doubt it for the very first time. 

Asha had heard of mermaids; cruel stories of people-eaters, hair of seaweed and a mouth full of bloodied shark's teeth. She had longed to meet one, and not the poor copy that was the Navy of the Manderlys', to bash its head in and take revenge for all the innocent sailors they had drawn beneath the waves. But now, facing one, that desire waned. She had always imagined standing proudly on her ship when faced with a mermaid, a harpoon or a sword in her hand. Instead, she lay groggily on a stone cave in the middle of nowhere, with no remembrance of how she had come to be there, and the mermaid lazed around in the water, her head and arms on land, the fin submerged but the tip of it shimmering slightly in the wan light that came in from above through a small hole in the cave's ceiling. 

The mermaid was beautiful: truly beautiful. Her hair was not of seaweed but of wet fiery streaks that crawled along her shoulders. Her eyes were bluer than the sea herself, and her mouth was neither a shark's nor bloody, but rather drawn into a soft, gentle smile. 

Asha was weary, but for the first time she could understand why people were drawn beneath the water by those smiles. 

“Don't come...” she tried to say, but her voice was more a creak than anything else. She coughed and tasted salt water in her throat. The mermaid seemed to be worried and came closer, heaving her tail onto the stony ground and crawling forward. She possessed as much elegance on land as she probably did in the water, Asha thought dizzily. 

The mermaid leaned closer, put her hands on Asha's shoulder – her fingers were long and delicate, not the stubby claws Asha had imagined – and pressed her mouth to Asha's. 

It was only because Asha, as she dimly realized, had just survived going overboard and almost drowning that she didn't push the beast away with all her strength; that, and the surprise spreading out in warm waves throughout her body, igniting her blood and–'

-

Myrcella hides her blush behind soft, long fingers. “Stop!” she squeals and makes Shireen look up from the book she's been reading out aloud with a smile. She closes the book, but that only makes Myrcella shake her head wildly. “No, don't close it. I just-- I need a drink.” She stands, collecting her skirt around her, and hops down from the bed and out of the room. Shireen watches her graceful motions. “You want some too?” Myrcella asks. Shireen nods, and with that, she disappears down the corridor towards the small kitchen in Shireen's college dorm. 

It's the first time they've met, now, as adults, women grown and their childhood illusions shattered. When Myrcella appeared in front of Shireen's door one rainy day one week ago, she hadn't seen her for almost eight years, since Shireen was twelve years old. She had remembered her, though – from countless lavish birthday parties, quietly horrible Christmas parties and play-dates where Myrcella had seemed more a fugitive than a child. They'd gone to the same school too, until all the terrible things had happened, but they hadn't been close friends. Myrcella had been beautiful even then, with her hair of gold and bright, gleaming smile, and Shireen had been ugly even then, the scar on her face as jarring to their classmates as her too-soft voice. Myrcella had been friends with the popular girls, Shireen – had not, and thus they had not been friends with each other. But that was then; now is another question entirely. 

Myrcella returns with two glasses of Coke. She downs her glass in one go and Shireen watches her with feelings she can't quite place. Myrcella is ugly too now, that's what she thought when the other girl appeared on her doorstep like a mirage, but she isn't sure of that anymore. There's still the quiet mirth in her eyes and kindness in her touch that Shireen is used to. 

“It's a good story,” Myrcella says, pondering. She's playing with one of the cyvasse pieces Shireen has lying around. “I like it so far. The mermaid is cute.” 

Shireen shrugs. Personally, she favors Asha. It's the third book in the series, and she's watched that character grow from the tiny daughter of the Pirate King to a Queen herself. She is strong and does not care for others' opinions, and decides on a whim what to do, without going over it again and again and again before coming to a decision. “I think I prefer Asha,” she says, though regarding Myrcella warily for signs of discomfort; but Myrcella just looks at her with an open and disarming smile. “She does what she wants without caring about others' opinions.” 

Then, Myrcella makes a peculiar motion with her hand. She has settled back down on Shireen's bed, opposite from Shireen, sitting cross-legged with one hand around her glass, seeming completely at ease with the world. She moves her hand to the short blond rasps on her head, but aborts the motion when she notices there's no hair there. If there were hair there, she would've moved a strand of hair back from the horrible scar where her ear used to be. 

Shireen doesn't understand the motion – _she_ would never move her hair away from her scar. 

“Do you want to go on?” Myrcella asks and there's a familiar spark in her eyes that Shireen remembers from when they used to whisper together during sleepovers. 

She nods.

\- 

'She cupped the mermaid's breast, her hand sliding along wet skin, and surpressed a deep groaning sound. The mermaid, too, seemed affected by the touch, but unexpectedly tore herself away, a red blush forming on her white cheeks that rivalled the color of her hair. 

“I am Sansa,” she said in a melodious voice that made Asha's eyelids droop. Oh, by the Drowned God's sake, she wouldn't let that monster drown and eat her, no matter how soft her skin was!! “Of House Stark beneath the waves, where the white wolf dances.” 

“How do you know what a wolf is?” That was, Asha thought, most probably the stupidest question she had ever posed another being, with a dizzy voice and a confused look in her eyes. This Sansa mermaid was beautiful, but she had to remember she was dangerous too, a beast of the deep.

Sansa chuckled. “And who are you?” That didn't really count as an answer, but Asha was still too confused to notice. She straightened her back, her hands fumbling for her saber and miraculously finding it safely tucked into her sword belt. She drew it; Sansa winced at the motion. Asha narrowed her eyes. 

“I shan't tell you my name, creature, as I will vanquish you on the spot!” 

Sansa looked at her with eyes as big as any child's. She was truly, truly beautiful, the most beautiful woman Asha had ever seen; full lips and rosy cheeks and her jaw a soft slope. 

Killing her would be like tearing off a puppy's head, she realized with a pang. That was the way her baby brother used to look at her to make Rodrik and Maron stop punching him. 

She still held the saber tightly, but was not about to attack the mermaid anymore. 

“So,” Asha asked, “you got any rum in here?” 

It turned out that, despite all evidence to the contrary, Sansa did have rum in here. Sansa also had a nice dinner – seaweed with more seaweed and one raw cod – which Asha devoured with less appetite than Sansa would have liked. She'd had worse, but as Queen of all pirates, she'd also had better. It also turned out that Sansa, too, was royalty: the eldest daughter of the King Under the Sea, heir of her brother Robb until he fathered a child, and held all the necessary qualities for a royal daughter: she could swim most gracefully, sing to make the Heavens themselves weep, braid rope to make tight nets, string pearls to build intricate traps for their hunters to use. The clothes she wore were loose-fitting and adorned with countless small pearls – and she had sewn on every one of them herself. Yet she spoke of her achievements in as soft and demure voice that aggravated Asha: there was only one life, and you had to be proud of your life and abilities! But then there was a glint in Sansa's eyes, and Asha understood that she knew exactly which effect her words had. 

Asha came to understand that the Drowned God had gifted her with a second life. She should have been dead, had Sansa not saved her and brought her to this reclusive cave where her father's men would not find and execute her so she could rest and lick her wounds. And that, Asha did; a deep gash in her leg healed slowly, with the help of much rum, Sansa's gentle care and Sansa's even gentler touch. They exchanged stories; Asha told her of the land world, of trees and birds and the songs her people sung and the food they ate and the adventures she'd had on the Western shores and sailing the Sunset Sea and with the water dancers in Braavos and on the top of the Meereneese pyramids. Sansa, in turn, told her much of the customs of her own people, of the different kingdoms beneath the water, of the Prince she was to marry, of kraken and whales and her friends the seals. They drank together, though Sansa much less than Asha, and laughed together. When Asha first heard Sansa laugh, it was a sound the likes of which she had never heard before, and she could not keep herself from kissing the mermaid then. 

Sansa was not disinclined to such behaviour. She always gazed at Asha with the utmost admiration, stroked her short black hair with reverent fingers, and touched her lips as if she were a goddess. When they kissed, Asha thought they were not far from being gods, truly, and Sansa's lips felt like a prayer. Her breasts were large and round, as were her hips – different from Asha's own flat body – and fit into her hands perfectly. It was a marvel to hold Sansa, and despite the pain that shot through Asha whenever she over-exerted her leg, she lay with her as often as Sansa would have her – and that was very often indeed. 

Moonshine fell into the little cave Asha had slowly begun to think of as 'their cave' and she held Sansa in her arms, slowly drowsing away, when the young woman spoke. Her voice was as soft as it always was, but there was none of the charming playfulness that usually circled around it. “My wedding to the Prince should have taken place tomorrow. He is the most handsome boy in all the Seven Seas. His hair is like gold and his voice like velvet.” Asha rolled her eyes. She remembered when she had spoken thus of pretty boys like Qarl. He had been a good lover, but a bad pirate, and that had been his undoing. “I do not know if I should ever have cared for him as I care for you, but it matters not. My father has cancelled the wedding.” 

“Cancelled?” Asha asked. That didn't seem very diplomatic to her. “Why's that?” 

“Father says...” She looked up at Asha, and there were tears in her eyes. It hurt to see such a creature cry, Asha found, and tried to wipe away the tears. “I am not to be seen amongst such monsters. I do not understand. The Prince is not a monster. His mother is the most beautiful maid, and has always been so kind to me. His father is so brave. But father says they have deceived me, and wrapped around me like the snakes they are.” She paused. “He thinks me stupid, I know it.”'

\- 

“Poor Sansa!!” Myrcella laughs and rips Shireen out of the story. “What a bad father! If my father had said something like that about me, I would've cried!”

Shireen bites her tongue. They haven't talked about Myrcella's parental situation once. Myrcella has inquired about Stannis' health the first evening they sat together, but Shireen had been too insecure to ask after anything to do with her family. Her aunt Cersei – she wonders if Cersei Lannister could still be considered her aunt, but she _was_ married to uncle Robert when both of them were still alive, so that still stands, she supposes, even though her children never truly were her cousins.

“Go on.” Myrcella urges quietly. “You know you want to ask.” 

Shireen shakes her head. “It's your own business. You haven't... I mean... you're still Myrcella.” 

That prompts a look Shireen doesn't understand at all. It's somewhere between pity and gratefulness, she thinks, but isn't sure. 

When Myrcella speaks again, her tone is easy, as if nothing happened. “I've gotta show you something.” She takes out her phone – an old, battered thing; certainly nothing the Myrcella Shireen once knew would've been seen with willingly – and flips through the pictures until she finds the one she's searching for. It shows the Titan of Braavos, and in front of it a younger Myrcella hand in hand with a olive-skinned boy Shireen assumes to be Trystane Martell. She bites on her lower lip at the sight. Myrcella doesn't seem to notice. She changes the picture until it shows a selfie of her in front of pyramids. Meereen, then, or another part of Slaver's Bay. This Myrcella is alone and her hair is still long, but colored a dark brown, and with her tan skin, you'd never think her a Lannister. Another picture shows her with a girl Shireen doesn't know in front of a stone house. She has black hair in that picture. The two girls look remarkably alike. “That was on Ib,” Myrcella says conversationally. “With Trystane's cousin Obella. I've been running for a long time.” 

She's smiling on all of the pictures, but it's always a strained smile. She's smiling now, too. Shireen looks at her, blinks, and understands. She puts a hand on Myrcella's shoulder and squeezes it. “You can rest now.” Myrcella leans forward until their foreheads touch, and her smile is not so strained now; Shireen shyly puts her hands around her. “You're still Myrcella.” she repeats herself quietly, and feels the other girl go slack against her.

They'll continue their reading sesssion tomorrow, Shireen assumes, and lies Myrcella down on her bed, drawing the covers up to her chin. She looks like an angel in her sleep; but then, she looks like an angel awake, so that's not much of an achievement. Shireen feels her hand slowly pet the other girl's short-cropped hair. She remembers newspaper photographs of her mother in much the same hairstyle and wonders if Myrcella knows of them. She wonders if Myrcella knows how Cersei and Tommen and Tyrion and Jaime Lannister died. She wonders if she cares; she wonders if Shireen could still like her if she didn't; she wonders if Myrcella will end like that too; she looks at Myrcella and wonders. 

\- 

'“He doesn't think you stupid, stupid,” Asha tried to console. She remembered her own father, who had never been much of a comforting figure in her life. Yet he had always watched over her and had made her the woman she was today. And besides – nobody could think Sansa stupid! Her stories were full of clever wit, and whatever Asha told her, she would remember for days and surprise her with a detail Asha didn't remember divulging. “He's just worried.” 

Sansa shrugged. “Maybe. But now I can't marry the Prince, who should I marry?” 

Asha began to laugh; the weirdest idea formed in her head. “You need to marry royalty?” She placed a kiss on Sansa's nose, who scrunched it up and looked at her like a rabbit. “Well, I am Queen of all pirates!” 

“You!!” Sansa squeaks and it's almost a laugh too, but Asha can't quite tell. “I should marry you? Oh, why not! A marriage between land and sea!” 

“The greatest diplomatic feat in known history!” Asha adds, grinning. 

“How jealous everyone will be, to see me marry the prettiest queen in the realm!” Sansa said and immediately blushed the most charming red color. Asha kissed her again, dipping her head, and felt Sansa's hand on her cheek, her eyelashes on her skin and cool scales sliding along her thighs.

“You have never told me you're a queen,” Sansa murmured when they finally ceased the kiss. “How did you come to be a queen? And where is your crown? What is your kingdom? It is not the sea; that is my father's kingdom.” 

“It's all of my ships,” Asha told her proudly. “Pirates follow only who they deem worthy, and like my father before me, I am the worthiest of all. So all follow me. He is gone, as are my brothers, with the exception of little Theon, but he is of no concern to me anymore.” 

“My brothers all look a lot like me,” Sansa said slowly, “especially the eldest, Robb. We share our mother's hair and eyes. She is a great lady. I love all of them dearly.” 

“As I have loved mine own brothers,” Asha agreed, “they were mean and cruel, yet they taught me strength as my mother taught me kindness. Do we not all love our family, no matter what they do to us?”

“We do,” Sansa mumbled and stroked through Asha's hair gently. “Yet they are not the only ones we can love.” 

They shared a deep kiss then, and Asha knew she was the luckiest woman alive. Sansa's tail splashed in the water, she had her arms wrapped around Asha's neck, and if her leg did not pain her so much, Asha would have grabbed her then and thrown her on her back and placed kisses all over her breasts and stomach. Now, though, she had to content with exceedingly desperate kisses and Sansa's body snug close to her.' 

\- 

It's early in the morning and Myrcella is drinking hot cocoa as she's reading. It's Shireen who's listening, and she's surprised Myrcella stops.

“Shireen,” she says softly and puts the book away. Shireen looks around her; what is the meaning of this? Should she be nervous? Well, there's no reason not to be nervous, she tells herself, so being a little bit nervous is probably all right. 

“Yes?” she thus asks nervously. 

“Why are you... why are you here? I mean, why aren't you with your father's enterprise? Are you not to take over Baratheon Corp. one day?” Shireen remembers Joffrey's effortless charm with the shareholders. She sighs. 

A loud car passes her apartment, and Shireen is startled. Probably one of her father's men. It's not like she lives alone, truly. They could find Myrcella here any day... it's not a thought she likes much, and so ignores it. 

“Yes, I am...” she replies. “But there's much I've still to learn, Stannis says.” She has never called him 'dad'; maybe 'papa' the first few years of her life, but when she started school, it was only ever Stannis and Selyse after that, or Father and Mother if they were feeling particularly affectionate. “Not only law. Living on my own too.” She tries for a small smile. “Dunno how effective that is, though, considering his hired men are stationed all around the building.” The reason Myrcella hasn't left it since she came here that rainy night. “And to live on my own. To make it on my own. He thinks I'm too dependent on my parents.” 

“You're not--” Myrcella tries, but Shireen shakes her head. 

“I am, compared to you at least. I've never--” 

This time it's Myrcella who interrupts her. “Compared to me?! I had to be independent!” She stands up angrily in one single fluid motion, and red splotches appear on her cheeks. Oh, dear Gods, Shireen thinks: she's beautiful even when she's angry. “Do you know how it feels like to lose your mother and your home and your brothers and _everything_ when you're _thirteen_?! Yes, I'm independent, I can live on my own– I have to live on my own!! I'll never be Myrcella Baratheon again, I'm not even a person! My ID says I'm Jeyne Hill, my passport says I'm Rosie Mill, Myrcella's dead!!” 

“I'm sorry,” Shireen apologizes in a quiet voice, staring down at the ground. She feels Myrcella sit down next to her, and suddenly two arms wrap around her. 

“No, _I'm_ sorry,” she whispers in her ear. “I shouldn't have-- it's not your fault. None of it's your fault.”

“I could've done something...” Shireen offers, still in a voice so quiet she fears it will never be heard outside of her heart. “I could've told Stannis to hold his men, or I could've asked Patches to--” 

She can feel Myrcella shake her head against her neck. She's warm; very warm against her. 

“Do we not all love our family?” Myrcella quotes Shireen's words, and Shireen grasps at her, and cries much louder, and Myrcella starts crying too. 

“They are... they are... not the only ones we can love,” Shireen replies when sobs do not claim all of her breaths. Myrcella seems to be smiling. She leans forward and places a quick peck on Shireen's lips.

“May I continue reading?” Myrcella asks and Shireen reaches for the book. 

\- 

'It had been a beautiful time in the cave, but slowly, Asha's leg was healing, and while she had only looked up to the sky once in a while at the beginning, now she found herself watching the sun and the stars almost all the time. Her fingers tingled with the need to move and fight and discover the horizon once again; she was rotting in here, and although food and company were as present as they were pleasant, the part of her that always wanted _more_ cried out in distress. And not only that: if the warriors beneath the sea found her with Sansa, Asha would not know what to do. Sansa would be in great danger if she were to be found harboring a land-woman. It was true that she had to leave this place, and could not tell Sansa of it, for surely she would try to hinder her. Asha was not certain she could leave in that case, with Sansa's soft voice asking her to stay. 

One day, her leg did not ache at all anymore, and she dipped her toes into cool salt water. The rest of her followed soon, until she was submerged and wet hair clung to her scalp. She dove deeply into the quiet water and looked around in the murky dimness for the way Sansa had brought her here. She soon found a small hole, swam through it, and found herself in the open waters. 

It was a grand feeling, to find herself free once again, and when she swam up and felt clear and fresh sea air flooding her lungs, she could not help but laugh out loud. 

Her euphoria claimed every part of her body, and she looked around; there was a tall rock in the distance, probably the cave she had been resting in, and nothing else; only infinite water around her. The sight filled her less with the frustrated desperation the shipwrecked usually experienced and more with the cozy feeling of returning to one's hearth safe and sound. It was this feeling of safety that led to her ruin: so happy was she to breathe the clear air that when something touched her ankle, Asha did not notice it fast enough to free herself. She only began fighting after a second, and that was too late, as she was dragged beneath the waves with a sharp twisting motion that made her cry out and swallow salt water. 

Asha forced herself to stay alert, despite the water burning in her throat, opened her eyes wide and saw a mermaid's hand around her feet. She lashed out, but soon another warrior arrived and slung a net around her body. She fought both for freedom and air, and when a third and a fourth warrior appeared, she knew the former was lost. Three of them grabbed her arms and a moment before Asha passed out without the chance to regret that she hadn't said goodbye to Sansa, they brought her to the surface again. 

She took a desperate gulp of air. The merpeople had breached the surface along with her; two were holding her up, as she couldn't swim well with the net around her. One of them was an older woman, with grey hair and a green mossy armor; the others were men all, scowling at her with disgust clear in their eyes. Asha scowled back in an unimpressed fashion. 

“You have trespassed, human,” said the mermaid, obviously the leader. “This is the sea of the Starks. A human has no place in these waters, neither alone nor with the wooden monster.” 

“It's called a ship, barbarian,” Asha spit out and was pushed beneath the waves with a harsh movement of the mermaid's arm. When she came up again, Asha had to gasp for breath. 

“There is only my goodwill between you and death. What are you doing here?” The mermaid's tone was cold, with a harsh fury lingering underneath. She was not a person to be very pleasant in anger, Asha assumed. If she wanted to live, she should not anger her again. Diplomacy had always served her well, hadn't it? What did this woman want – what was the real reason Asha wasn't dead already? She was probably patrolling these waters, watching for any who did not belong here. There had to be something she could promise her to let her live. 

“I demand an audience with your King,” she said in a tone she hoped would be convincing. “I am an envoy sent by the royal Pirate family, the Greyjoys, who would make an offer the Seven Seas have not seen before.” Was it her grave she was building, or her salvation? Asha couldn't say which, and the mermaid's expression was unreadable for a few very long seconds. 

“You do not look much like an envoy,” she settled on finally, gesturing at Asha's ragged shipwrecked clothes. Asha snorted. 

“To pass undetected through enemy lines. My message is of an important nature.” She could see that the mermaid was unconvinced. The corner of her eyes told her that the other guards were whispering among themselves, though. A good sign. “If you do not deliver me to your King, it will be lost forever, and so will be my royal offering.” 

A few more strained seconds passed, and then the mermaid gestured to one of the mermen. He dove into the waves immediately, long grey scaled fin vanishing. 

“We shall wait for Eddard Stark here,” the mermaid said, “and if you have lied, girl, Maege Mormont will kill you herself.” 

“It would be an honor,” Asha replied, grinning. She knew she had won. 

She had not won, as it turned out. When Sansa's father came, it was with such a cold fury in his eyes that Asha felt as if she was turning into an icicle where she stood, still held up by the other guards. His beard and hair were ragged, not befitting of a land-king, and his clothing consisted of one long, white coat wrapped around his shoulders. It did trail behind him in a quite majestic fashion, she would admit, but he did not much look the king he was supposed to be. Not like the land kings, more like a pirate king like her father had been, with the determination that more than made up for the lack of jewellery and extravagant furs. There were two mermen behind him, one with bright red hair and another with hair as black as Stark's. They were garbed in the same kind of clothing the King wore. The red-haired merman looked confusingly like Sansa, with the same bright blue eyes and flaming long hair, as if they were twins. Only his expression was different: determined where Sansa had been soft, harsh where she had been curious. 

“It is an honor to meet your Majesty,” Asha began, but the Eddard Stark merely looked at her with digust in his eyes. 

“The Greyjoy daughter,” he greeted her, and Asha's eyes went wide. He recognized her?! “I have fought your father many times. The child he promised was never given to me.” 

“Your Majesty,” Asha attempted, “he did not hand over Theon to the waves because he was his only son left. If--” 

“Silence,” said the Stark king. “Your people have raided mine often enough. You think you will get out of here with your life? Take the net off. I will take her head myself.” The guards hurried to take off the net, and desperately Asha looked around for an escape, but there were still strong hands around her arms.

“Father,” the black-haired merman said suddenly, in a soft voice. He looked like the spitting image of the king. Was this Sansa's brother Robb, who would inherit her father's sea one day?, Asha wondered. He didn't look like her much, so it had to be the other one. “Should this woman pay for her father's crimes? Is this truly just?” 

“She will pay only for her own crimes,” the King spoke in a stern tone, and Asha nodded grimly. That was fair, at least. “Too many of our women have fallen to the swords of these people.” 

“Well, to be fair, they _did_ try to drown my crew,” Asha interjected, but nobody paid her any mind. The king had drawn a colossal broadsword. The red-haired man was biting down on his lower lip and whispered something in the other boy's ear. The black-haired merman spoke up again. 

“Father,” he said, “would it not be appropriate to allow Robb the honor? It was his friend Dacey who died of a pirate's sword not one moon ago.” 

A few seconds of silence passed. Asha was not sure who Dacey was, and was not sure she was getting out of here alive, but she was sure her death would be swift as she eyed the sharp broadsword. She should have prayed to the Drowned God more, and she should have fucked more, and she should have eaten more venison in her life, and she should have annoyed her uncle Aeron more, and she should have kissed her mother more, and she should have told Sansa goodbye. She drew a deep breath. She had also done many, many things right, and her regrets were drowned out by her accomplishments. She would gain a glorious seat next to her father in the halls beneath the waves, and she would feast along with her family. Death wasn't so bad, and either way, she should've died a moon ago; it had only been Sansa who had prevented her fate then. 

The King gave his sword to the red-haired Robb. 

“Be quick. It is a sentence, not a punishment.” 

The man Robb nodded and came closer, while the other guards let go of her and swam a bit away, eyeing Asha suspiciously.'

\- 

Myrcella gulps visibly. 

“Okay, we gotta pause here. It's way too exciting.” Myrcella says; Shireen listens to her intently. “Do you really think they'll kill her?” 

“It's the newest book in the series. Maybe it's the last too. I don't know...” Shireen saays, shrugging carefully. Myrcella nods grimly. 

“Are you hungry? I'll make us a sandwich?” Myrcella asks, quite out of the blue. She stands up abruptly, as if she can't wait to be out of the room. 

Shireen shrugs again. “Sure. I like them with--” 

“Cucumber and vegan butter?” Myrcella interrupts her, grinning. Shireen smiles at her. “Come on, I remember _some things_.” 

Myrcella's out of the room before Shireen can say anything; but then, she doesn't have anything else to say. It just feels– comfortable with Myrcella, like she doesn't need to say much, but can say anything if she wishes to. She really loves that about Myrcella, Shireen thinks. She notices she's blushing and stands to pace around the room, the way her father always does, but doesn't grind her teeth. 

She wonders if Myrcella knows just how important she has become to Shireen in the last few days. Her laughter is a welcome sound, and even better, it's often joined by Shireen's own laughter. She can scarcely imagine a life without her anymore, which, she'll readily admit, is a bit pathetic, yes, but she knows Myrcella wouldn't judge her for it. The Myrcella she remembers wanted everyone to like her; it's no wonder that now, with all that sharp need for validation concentrated solely on Shireen, she is being charmed by the other girl. 

But Shireen doesn't care. She'll give Myrcella all she has, and more, she decides then. Because that's what Myrcella deserves. She'll tell her that she can move in here, and live with her as long as she likes, and she'll be safe from all the people who want to hurt her. And Shireen, she is so sure of it, will protect her from all the bad things in their past. From her own father, if need be, and from the memories that must haunt her. And she'll be strong for Myrcella, stronger than she ever was for any of her friends. 

She smiles to herself. Myrcella will like that, she thinks, and will say yes, and maybe she can accompany Shireen to class, and can study with her, and one day enroll in classes and become a vet or something like that, and they'll get a cat (no, Myrcella's allergic, so maybe a dog, or a few fish) and it'll be so, so pleasant and comfortable and beautiful. Maybe Myrcella will let her hair grow out. 

Shireen is daydreaming, she realizes, and shakes her head. Get a grip, girl, this is not one of your novels, she tells herself, you won't have that cottage with a garden and Myrcella in a flowery dress brewing tea for you! 

She's still pacing and forces herself to stop. They're not really cousins, never were, really, right? That dream of a cozy little cottage with a garden is not so bad, is it? She can dream it, even it'll never come true, right? The questions she asks herself become desperate. Shireen sighs, sits back down, and stares at the wall. 

Her door opens; she sits up again, the beginnings of a smile forming on her lips, preparing to greet Myrcella; but it's her father who enters. His face is harsher than usual – he usually always has one of his rare smiles reserved for Shireen when they see each other – and his mouth is drawn into a tight line. 

“Shireen,” he says through lips pressed tightly together, “I wanted to visit you spontaneously.” 

Stannis says the word 'spontaneous' as a French revolutionary might say 'monarchy'. He must not go into the kitchen and find Myrcella there! Somehow, she must distract him. Shireen stands to greet him, and then notices something's terribly wrong. “I met someone at the door. She was leaving this house. Was she here, Shireen?” he says, and Shireen grows cold. His hand, previously out of sight, comes forward and with it stumbles Myrcella. He's scowling at her. 

Myrcella scowls back. “Let me go!” she demands, but Stannis' grip is steely. 

Shireen thinks she's going to pass out from the shock. This can't be!! He can't – he can't take her from her! But does he want to? Yes, he does, judging from the anger in his eyes. Intuitively, Shireen looks down, but immediately looks up again, into his eyes. And why did he meet her outside? Wasn't she-- did she want to leave her? Without saying goodbye? It's unbelievable. No. It's believable; Myrcella had to survive instead of live, and that changes a person, Shireen supposes. Was that little peck her way of saying goodbye? 

“No, Stannis. I don't know what this creature is doing here.” Inside, she winces at those ugly, cruel words. Myrcella looks at her aghast and goes slack in Stannis' grip. 

Stannis raises his eyebrows. Shireen looks anywhere but at the two people in front of her. 

“I'll return soon, daughter,” he says to her after what feels like an eternity, “I will need to take care of the abomination first.”

“Rude much?” Myrcella interjects, trying to escape his grip anew. 

Shireen purses her lips. “What was she doing here?” she asks her father. “I think she wanted to harm me, Stannis. Father.” The old word feels foreign on her tongue, but it has the desired effect – Stannis' eyes instantly grow a fraction softer. “Let _me_ take care of her.” She holds his gaze for a few moments longer, ignores Myrcella's crushed expression, and exhales quietly when he nods, once, sharp. 

“Let's do this outside. With your men. Our men.” Shireen suggests, and they walk outside. Myrcella is silent but stares at her with venom in her eyes; Shireen feels like the most despicable human being that ever existed. She wants to tell Myrcella that she has her back, that all will be well, or that all will be as well as Shireen can possibly make it. 

They step out onto the alleyway behind Shireen's apartment, where three guys lounge around subtly. They straighten once Stannis comes into view. He pushes Myrcella away from himself; the young woman's eyes flit around the narrow alley, but it's not a good place to escape from, with tall buildings on either side. She'd have to sprint quite a way to get to the main street, and her father would follow, and there is no way Myrcella could be quick enough. 

But Shireen isn't stupid, has never been. Even her father always saw it. That's a quick head on those shoulders, he used to say when she presented him and Uncle Davos her maths homework. And her mother allowed her to stay up late whenever she was the best in her class – a regular occurrence. There's a fire ladder attached to the side of one of the buildings. Shireen starts to pace as if she's thinking and walks slowly to the left; her father, his men and Myrcella all follow, and Shireen only stops when they're right in front of the ladder. 

She looks right at Myrcella, then at the ladder behind her and moves her head. Myrcella stays still; she only turns her head to look at where Shireen looked when Shireen is talking, but Shireen notices it. “You wanted to harm me, Lannister bastard?” 

“I never!!” Myrcella exclaims hotly, red coloring her cheeks. By the Gods, even Tywin Lannister himself could not close his eyes to the truth now, that she is a Lannister through and through, green and gold and so, so red. “I never wanted you harm! Any of you!” 

“It's too late for this,” Stannis grits out, “it's been too late for this for twenty years. You shall pay for your mother's crimes.” 

“That's not just!!” Myrcella yells, but Shireen knows exactly that Stannis considers it just, else he wouldn't do it. “I'm not responsible for my birth!” 

“But there must be retribution. You are an adult now. You must understand.” Shireen defends her father; and Myrcella, by the Gods, growls at her. 

“Three of my men you slaughtered, girl,” Stannis interrupts; Myrcella makes a motion as if she were throwing her hair back, only there's no hair to throw back.

“They wanted to kill me,” she says. 

Stannis snorts, though lacks any amusement. From far away, Shireen can hear the sound of cars driving past. “They wanted to _arrest_ you. We do not murder little girls. You must merely be stopped from receiving your inheritance; it was never yours, yet my brother's account in Switzerland is still being drained by you.” 

“I don't want to be arrested! He was my father, even if he wasn't... my father!” Myrcella's voice has become loud again. One of her father's men looks at him, wearing a worried expression. Shireen steps forward. 

“We'll end this, now, here, Lannister.” she tells Myrcella and looks into her furious eyes and– Myrcella understands. She sees her eyes brighten and can only barely stop herself from smiling – a smile would give the plan away. “You will be brought to court. Charges will be laid against you. Of fraud and murder amongst others. My father's lawyers will see justice done.” With the adrenaline of the lie rushing through her veins, Shireen thinks she should try acting as a career, and grabs Myrcella's collar. She whispers in her ear. “They won't shoot, trust me,” she says, and pushes Myrcella backwards with all her might. 

Myrcella stumbles back and crashes against the first few rungs of the ladder. She turns to climb it without missing a beat, and Shireen follows right behind. 

Some of her father's men draw their weapons, Shireen sees when she looks over her shoulder; but she's too close. They won't shoot. And indeed – Stannis lowers their guns with his own hands. “You could hit her,” she thinks she hears him yell, “don't hit my daughter!” 

But then all thought of her father vanishes, as Myrcella stands on top of the roof, blows her a kiss, and runs out of sight. 

\- 

'The boy Robb looked into her eyes, and it all became clear to Asha. She felt like laughing, but stopped herself just in time. The boy was wielding the huge sword, and it grew all too clear that he had no clue what to do with it. If she didn't laugh soon, she would burst – did none of the others notice? Her gaze fell on the black-haired boy who'd stood next to his brother, and she understood that one of them knew. 

“It is you, then, who shall execute me?” Asha asked wearing a grin that would've unsettled anyone else, but the person in front of her didn't smile. 

“Shhh!” Sansa's voice came from the boy's lips, almost too quiet to be heard. They truly had to look alike, if she had fooled her own father with this mummer's play. “What are you doing here?” Sansa whispered as she looked down on her. 

Asha shrugged. “I just went out to get some fresh air.” 

Doubt and worry and heartache were flitting on Sansa's face, and suddenly Asha regretted not telling her. At least she could say hoodbye to her now. “Listen, Sansa. I wanted to tell you that I--” Asha snorted. Oh, she wouldn't start with wrapping flowers around her words in the last few seconds of her life. “It's nice that I can say goodbye to you. I like you. I like you a lot, but still, I couldn't stay there... I need the sea.” 

“So do I,” Sansa said, desperate, and Asha knew that the 'you big dummy' was only omitted due to Sansa's flawless upbringing. “Together.” 

Asha didn't understand her meaning but when Sansa threw the sword with all her might to her brother, who stood there dazedly, grabbed Asha's waist, and used the guards' surprise to swim out of their defensive ring, in the direction of the setting sun, she did understand. 

Asha finally let go and began to laugh.'

\- 

There is no-one to listen to her, and Shireen's words die in the dark empty room. Her father has ordered her grounded and will have a stern talk with her, but only when Myrcella has been found and brought to justice once and for all. And Myrcella isn't here because... well, Shireen thinks, because she'd have to be mad to come back.

There is nothing left of Myrcella in the small room. She took her phone and all of her meagre possessions with her when she'd claimed to prepare them some food. It's obvious now, how she manipulated Shireen the whole time, and how Shireen has let herself be manipulated. And yet... she thinks about the story she's just read, with only a few lines to remain – she doesn't want to read about a happy ending when she doesn't get one – and thinks of how Asha didn't mean to betray Sansa by running away; she only wanted a taste of freedom. And to protect Sansa. 

Isn't it possible that's the same with Myrcella, Shireen thinks, and knows it's but naïve hope. Her mother has always told her she was too naïve. 

She steps out into the corridor. She's grounded, so there'll be her father's men right in front of her door. She sighs and goes to pour herself a glass of water. When she arrives, the kitchen is shrouded in darkness. Shireen takes out a bottle from the fridge and turns to find a plate on the kitchen counter. There's a slice of toast on it, and vegan butter, and thin cucumber slices. They're laid out to form a heart. 

A smile fights its way to her face, and Shireen makes a decision. 

It takes weeks to find her, and when she does, she's all but given up hope. But she does find her, in a dingy motel close to Sunspear; Shireen knocks on the door of Rosie Mill and there she stands. Myrcella's hair has grown in a bit, and her skin's tanner than ever, and her freckles are pronounced, and when she sees Shireen, she breaks out into tears and draws her close for a hug. 

“We didn't finish the story,” Shireen says when Myrcella has calmed down, and Myrcella laughs. 

\- 

'They made it all the way to Pyke, although Sansa declared the waters around the island too stormy for her liking. Yet there was still the little seashore cottage Asha remembered from her childhood; it was built on the stony shore, where her uncle used to drown true believers. These days, only the crabs called it their home, but it was where Asha spent blessed weeks with Sansa until her ship returned to harbor and she reclaimed her rightful place. 

And, although Asha would scarcely admit it: what pleased her best of all was that Sansa came with them, brave by her ship's side. Asha would come down as often as possible, to enjoy the waves with her, and even her men gradually warmed up to having a mermaid accompany them. 

One such day, with the sun bright in their eyes, Asha placed her lips on Sansa's lips, who returned the kiss eagerly. “I thought I'd lost you forever when I ran,” Asha confessed, but Sansa only stroked her hair. 

“You cannot lose me. I'll always stay with you.”'

\- 

The ending's a bit corny, Shireen thinks, but Myrcella looks at her with such an awed expression that she won't say anything. 

“You must go back to your father,” Myrcella says quietly. 

Shireen nods. “I will, soon enough. But not... not yet.” 

And Myrcella beams. She leans forward, and a soft peck is placed on Shireen's lips. It's not a goodbye, has never been one, Shireen knows that now; it's a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a got_exchange over @LJ for the really awesome CommaSplice. Had a lot of fun writing this.


End file.
